State of Grace (Resurrection) (25 page)

‘You! Roman’s kin.’ I jumped when she shouted at me. ‘You may sing for us.’

‘Sing,’ I repeated flatly.

‘Yes, sing.’

‘Sorry, I can’t sing. At least, not well. I sound like a strangled cat.’

‘Can you play?’

‘Play what?’

‘An instrument.’ She was getting annoyed again. Not good.

‘What instrument?’ I thought of the recorder I had murdered in a series of music lessons in high school and grimaced. Surely not?

‘The woman is clearly half-witted,’ Sibyl announced to the other ladies. She pointed
at a couple of musical instruments in one corner. ‘Lute? Dulcimer?’

I shook my head at each one.

‘What can you do?’ I was being interrogated and I didn’t like it, but I was savvy enough to bite back the retort I wanted to make; she wouldn’t believe I was a pilot anyway. ‘Weave, sew?’ she continued. Again, I shook my head. ‘What use are you?’ she asked rhetorically. ‘Are you wed?’

‘No, my lady.’ At least I could remember my manners.

‘Is your husband dead?’

‘I have never been married.’ I could tell that my answers were only fuelling her suspicion of me.

‘Sibyl.’ Agnes was again trying to divert her sister. ‘Let us play.’

Sibyl abruptly lost interest in baiting me, and she allowed herself to be led to a low table on which a chess board had been set up. Now there was something I
could
do, but I wasn’t going to admit it. I didn’t want to be the focus of any more attention.

I don’t know how much time had passed before the room began to empty, as women gradually left, calling out their goodnights. I had withdrawn into myself, thinking thoughts of home, letting my mind wander to stave off the boredom, but gathered my wits quickly when I saw an opportunity to leave. I slipped out unnoticed, following two ladies down the passage for a short distance, until I found an open doorway to duck into, with the intention of waiting for the women to disappear from view. I needed to return to the great hall if I was to stand any chance of finding Roman, and I didn’t want to search for him in full sight of Sibyl’s friends and relatives.

After the third passageway and the second flight of stairs, I was getting concerned. This place was like a Tardis. The castle, from the little I had seen of it in the darkness, hadn’t appeared to be particularly large
. Certainly not as big as Raglan or Caernarfon castles (school trip and wet holiday in North Wales respectively), so how on earth did I keep getting lost in it?

Head towards the ground, I reasoned.
If I could get outside then I could work my way around to the great hall’s main doors. So I found another set of stairs, twisty ones that belonged in a tower, and headed down them. They ended in an armoury, at least, that’s what I thought you called the place where weapons were stored. Shields, bows taller than me, arrows nearly as tall, were all stacked neatly, as were swords of all lengths, stacked or hung in rows along the walls, together with other pieces of metal, like spears and round balls with spikes over them,  that looked equally as dangerous. I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an umbrella stand with sword hilts poking out of the top, and I shook my head at how mundane it appeared. I had a feeling that they wouldn’t be so mundane if I had one of those swords pointing at me.

A door opposite the stairs was open, and seeing no
other exit, I darted through it into yet another passageway. This was becoming tedious, but at least there were sounds of people echoing along this one. I crept forward as quietly as I could, sidling past a half-open door, glancing quickly in as I slipped past. Men, soldiers, were sitting, talking in low voices, a jug of wine or beer and several cups on a table between them. They were playing at dice.

I held my breath until I had rounded a corner, then let it out in a whoosh of relief, only to draw another one in sharply. Roman! I had found him
and though he was shrouded in the shadow of an alcove, with his back to me, I knew it was him.

I had hardly made a sound, but it was enough. He
was facing the wall, his head bowed, cloak gathered around him and… someone else. A woman. He lifted his head and turned to look at me. I watched him move, as if in slow motion, time drawing out, Roman turning, turning. It must have taken a split second to reveal his face, but to me it took hours, days. I stared, horrified and betrayed, seeing the intimate way his arms were around her, her head tilted to one side, her face bliss-filled and languid. It was his mouth that held me and the blood. He had blood on his mouth, and his lips were pulled back to reveal his fangs.

T
hey were red.

Chapter 11

I had known what he was. I had known what he did, but
abstract knowing was different from actually seeing with my own eyes. I was appalled, horrified, terrified and grief stricken, all at the same time. And a part of me, a part I didn’t really want to acknowledge, wanted him to have been doing that to me, not her. I wanted to feel his teeth slicing into me with such dark pleasure, and I wanted to feel him inside me as he fed, drawing black threads of desire through each wet wound.

I ran. I didn’t care where I was going, I just
ran, needing to get away from him, as far away as possible. I had to have time to think, to work out what I should do next, but with each sobbing step all I could think about was his face, glowing palely with his hunger.

He hadn’t followed me
, although deep down I had wanted him to. I wanted to know that he felt something for me, and I bitterly wondered if it was possible for one such as he to feel emotion.

I was outside, eventually, and stopped in despair. I had nowhere to go. I was trapped in this reality, with no i
dea how long I would be here. Perhaps I would never leave, never return to my own time. The only constant in this particular reality of mine was Roman, and without his protection I was not sure I could survive.

I staggered to the nearest wall and leant against it, my arms hugging my waist, trying to hold the pain inside me as the tears came. It was several long minutes before I knew I was not alo
ne. A vampire stood next to me: I could recognise the unmistakable sweet, seductive scent. But it wasn’t Roman: there was a subtle difference in smell. It was Viktor and he watched me impassively as I struggled to gain some control over my shaking body.

I think I would have been totally undone if he had tried to comfort me, but his indifference
to my emotional state gave me strength, and gradually anger replaced misery. All the while Viktor watched me, like a child watching an ant, curious but detached. No sympathy. No empathy. No emotion.

‘You are both bastards, do you know that?’ I hissed furiously.

Viktor blinked slowly.

‘I know what you are. I
know
!’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t you care?

‘About what?’

‘That I know. That Roman is drinking some woman’s blood? That I thought we had… that he… Oh hell!’ I was crying again and I hated myself for it. I hated showing weakness like this. I am a strong, independent woman, or had been until my diagnosis, and I wasn’t used to not being in control of my life or my self. And I had never been so not in control as I was now.

‘You will come with me,’ Viktor said.

‘No. I’m not going back to the cottage.’ I actually stamped my foot in temper I wasn’t sure who or what I was more annoyed with: myself, Roman, the situation I was in in, the tumour… It didn’t matter, but I was as mad as hell anyway. The tears had given way to temper again. And boy, did I have a temper. I rarely let it get the better of me; there was no room on an aircraft, whatever its size, for anger. If you got angry, you made mistakes. But I wasn’t flying now, and I never would again, so I had every right, I reasoned, to give in and wallow in it.

‘Where else is there?’ Viktor said reasonably.

‘Nowhere. Anywhere. Whatever!’ was my less than adult reply. ‘I don’t care. Just not there.’

‘You wish to remain here?’ Viktor spoke softly and that made me even madder.

‘Yes! I’ll stay here. I’ll find a room or something.’

‘This is not an inn. And you have no coin.’

‘I can work. There has got to be something I can do.’

Viktor smiled coldly. ‘There is always something a woman can do for payment,’ he said.

I gasped in outrage. ‘You bastard!’ He caught my arm before I was even aware that I had raised it to slap him.

‘Stop.’ His voice sent icicles down my spine. ‘I will not tolerate this.’

I swallowed, fear constricting my throat, as I remembered exactly what it was I had been intending to hit, and the fight suddenly went out of me.

Roman was waiting for us in a small chamber deep in the castle walls. The room was warm with a tiny fire burning in a small hearth, stone uncovered walls and a bare floor. It was simply furnished with a wooden table and two chairs. There were swords and shields stacked in one corner and on the table was a pitcher of wine and two metal cups, both empty. Of course the wine was untouched: Roman had already slaked
his
thirst. He was relaxing in one of the chairs, one lean muscled leg pulled up casually to rest on the other, hands on the arms of his seat. He was the picture of nonchalance, but I sensed the power harnessed within him. I had a feeling it would only take one wrong move on my part. I didn’t want to follow that thought through.

Viktor left
us alone and the door shut heavily behind him. I wasn’t sure whether he was being considerate or standing guard to prevent witnesses.

I waited for Roman to speak, and eventually he did. ‘I am sorry you had to see that.’

He didn’t sound sorry at all.

‘Did you – I mean,
is she?’ I couldn’t go on.

‘Of course not.’ He was scornful. ‘What do you take me for?’

‘Duh  - a vampire.’ I could hear the derision in my voice but was powerless to control it. I gave myself a mental shake; what I was doing was very similar to prodding a stick at a poisonous snake. I took a step back, not that it would do any good, what with him being faster than the speed of light an’ all, but I couldn’t argue with instinct. And my instinct was telling me to run.

He blinked at my reaction to him, and his regret was clear when he repeated, ‘I am sorry.’

I knew the question was stupid as soon as the words left my mouth. ‘So why did you do it?’

He
thought my question was stupid too, I could tell, but he answered me anyway. ‘Because I have to,’ he said simply. He uncrossed his legs and leant forward, his hands clasped in front of him. Even knowing what I knew, his beauty astounded me. He allowed expression into his face, and appeared more human for it. It was like watching Michelangelo’s David come to glorious life.

‘If I don’t drink, I will cease to be. Our kind cannot deny what we are or what we need to do to keep us alive.’

‘But you are dead, or rather, undead,’ I interrupted.

‘We are called that,’ he conceded. ‘It is not strictly true. We still live, albeit not in the same
way as humans do.’

I frowned, confused as hell.

‘I need blood, human blood, in the way that you need to breathe,’ he explained. ‘I have no choice. The need, the thirst, is too great to be denied. To ask a vampire to stop feeding is akin to asking a drowning man to ignore his necessity to draw air into his lungs.’

‘How often d
o you have to…?’ I trailed off, unable to say the words.

‘It depends on how active we are, when we last fed and how much.’ He shrugged. ‘A number of factors, but generally every few days.’

‘And you don’t kill your victims?’ I needed clarification on this.

‘No, I don’t,’ he replied grimly. ‘It is not usually necessary.
’ I stayed silent, wanting him to go on. ‘Does a farmer kill a cow when he milks her?’ His voice was harsh.

I felt an immeasurable sorrow
. ‘Are we merely animals to you?’

His gaze was steady. ‘I am not going to apologise for what I am,’ he said.

‘But you aren’t human!’ I cried, appalled.

‘I am
more
than human. I was human once and I retain some human qualities. I can feel emotion: anger, fear… love.’ He mesmerised me, his eyes capturing mine, willing me to understand. ‘My heart beats, albeit very, very slowly.’ He touched his chest.

‘So that’s why you can be killed with a wooden stake through the heart.’

He rolled his eyes. Such a human gesture. ‘That old chestnut.’ He smiled, a tiny forlorn smile, melting the ice in my veins. ‘It doesn’t have to be wooden,’ he explained. ‘But whoever wields it would have to be very, very quick. And brave. Or stupid.’

‘What else isn’t true?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know – what do you think is true?’ he countered, reasonably.

I paused for a second, trying to recall everything I had ever read and every film I had ever seen with vampires in them. I distinctly remembered Bram Stoker’s Dracula, having studied it at school, but everything else was a bit of a blur.

‘You have to sleep in a coffin during the day,’ I blurted.

‘No.
No coffin.’

‘
So where do you sleep?’

‘We rest, but we don’t sleep in the same way as humans.’

My legs were aching from standing for so long, so I edged to the unoccupied chair, pulled it away from the table and sat. My attempt at trying not to sit too close to him didn’t go unnoticed. He looked a little sad, but I had seen him do his human act before, and I couldn’t be certain what I saw was genuine emotion or not.

‘I have seen you out in daylight,’ I stated, remembering how he
had looked in the afternoon sun. How his skin reflected the paleness of the winter day.

‘We prefer the night. Darkness makes it easier for us
to hunt. Daylight will not kill us, but we like it as little as a bat does.’

‘Talking of bats – you don’t turn into one do you?’ I had a feeling I was asking a really sill
y question, and I was right: his lips were twitching as he tried not to smile.

‘No, but I can see where humans might get the idea.’

‘You can fly?’ I demanded.

He gave a short laugh at that. ‘I thought flying is what you do.’

‘Yes, but I have an aircraft. I can’t actually fly by myself.’ I flapped my arms to demonstrate how firmly I remained on the ground.

‘Neither can I,’ he retorted. ‘But I can climb, very well, and perhaps one of my kind was seen halfway
up a wall, wearing a cloak and…’ We both thought about that for a second and I bobbed my head in acknowledgment.

‘Anything else?’ His enquiry was as polite as a waiter asking if I wanted more wine.

‘Churches,’ I said. ‘Holy water. Can it burn you?’

‘Why should it?’ I could tell he was amused.
His moods and the tiny nuances in his face that most people would fail to notice were becoming more visible to me the more I came to know him.

‘Aren’t you undead,
evil? And doesn’t that mean you can’t walk on holy ground?’

‘Do you believe in this god, that the followers of Christ claim is the one true god?’ he asked carefully.

‘No, I suppose I could be called an atheist, although I have moments of agnosticism,’ I stated and I acknowledged I was having one of those moments now.